Two Detectives And A Sudoku Cube
by ITell
Summary: Sherlock fails to solve his Sudoku cube, John buys milk and Lestrade lectures Sherlock, but they both enjoy it. Dedicated to Lucy36 for her birthday - Have a great one!


**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. I also absolutely do not cry when I have type that.**

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**A/N: **Happy Birthday **Lucy**!

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John came rushing down the stairs at the sound of his flatmate's urgent cry, gun in hand; expecting the worst, or at least Mycroft.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John glanced around the room looking for an attacker; finding none, he frowned at Sherlock, sitting in his chair scowling whilst he tried to solve his . . .

"Is that a rubick's cube?" Asked John sitting opposite him.

"No. It's a sudoku cube. Solving simple colour differentials are for you normal people." Sherlock tossed the cube to John, who examined it. It was easy enough to figure out. "So each face has to have the numbers one through nine - "

"In order." Interjected Sherlock taking back the cube.

"In order, right," echoed John. "Is there a reason why you called me down here, I take it there isn't an emergency?"

"We're out of milk, you usually respond faster if I sound panicked."

John counted to ten slowly. "Ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf?"

"You know I don't deal with trivia."

"Of course." John watched Sherlock wrestle with the damn cube, eyebrows knitted in frustration. The sudoku cube seemed to be one of the few things that Sherlock Holmes wasn't naturally talented at. John said as much out loud.

"Oh shut up, John!" Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off the cube. "Are you going to get the milk or not?"

John thought about it, thinking about how frustrated he himself gets when he tries to tackle a rubick's cube - imagine Sherlock's frustration. John weighed up the pro's and con's: Sherlock gets snippy when he's frustrated and being as far away from that as possible is a good thing - however Sherlock also blows things up when frustrated. A dilemma.

"I won't blow the place up, Lestrade is on his way over for my statement about the Lemon Curd Killer case. He'll be here soon."

Pacified that Sherlock would have appropriate supervision until John got back, John agreed to go.

"Fine, I'll get the milk." Said John shrugging on his jacket.

"Some pork pies too, if they've got them in." Replied Sherlock, still intent on the cube.

"Alright, but I'll only get them if you behave for Lestrade - no throwing coffee cups at him."

"I can't, you haven't made coffee."

John ducked out, purposefully ignoring that comment.

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It happened about halfway through Sherlock's recount of the case.

Lestrade was sitting on the couch making notes, asking the follow up questions and doing the parental-long-suffering sigh that seemed to have become part of his job description.

Sherlock had just come to the part where he was justifying stealing a double decker bus, when he spotted it.

The Sudoku cube was sitting on the coffee table where he'd tossed it when Lestrade came in - but it was solved!

Sherlock dived across the room and grabbed the cube, checking all sides - completely solved - but how? Who?

Could it have solved itself when he tossed it at the table? Unlikely.

_After you've eliminated the impossible whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth._

Lestrade was in the room. A highly improbable conclusion, but logic rarely lies.

"Did you . . . " Sherlock trailed off, still looking for another answer - an elusive fact that must be so obvious he's missing it.

"Well yeah. Hope you don't mind, but you've probably solved it loads of - "

"How?"

"Huh?"

"How did you solve it?"

"Oh, well I did this, then this and this. There you go." Said Lestrade taking the cube and mixing it up, then solving it again.

Sherlock took the cube back, looking at Lestrade like he was some sort of alien.

"Y'know I did have a life once, before being a police officer. I was the national Rubicks cube champion from '81 through to '84 and also '86, '87 and '89. I've probably still got the trophies somewhere."

Sherlock was silent a moment, processing this unexpected information. Then something _incredibly _unexpected came from Sherlock's lips. So unexpected Lestrade had to sit down again, or fall from shock.

Sherlock quickly got impatient from the lack of response from the stunned Detective Inspector. "Can you teach me?" He repeated.

Lestrade nodded in a daze.

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When John got back with the milk and pork pies, he found the two detectives sitting on the sofa with the sudoku cube. Lestrade was giving Sherlock a lecture on Rubick variables and Sherlock was lapping it all up earnestly. Neither acknowledged John's return.

John shook his head indulgently and put the kettle on, glad that no emergency services had been needed in the fourty-five minutes he'd been gone. (It would appear that the chip and pin machines have now declared war on John, hence the inordinate amount of time spent at the local supermarket.)

He returned back to the living room with the coffee, just as the conversation had turned back to the case.

Lestrade frowned, recalling their earlier conversation. "What was this you were telling me about a bus?"


End file.
